Wherein they not only make Holy Church a liar, but are visibly confounded by this truth which I know and feel, namely, that while my flesh wastes hourly towards old age, and of many things my memory is weakened, yet of that day in Chinon I mind me as clearly, and see my love as well, and hear her sweet voice as plain, as if she had but now left the room.
Herein my memory does not fail, nor does love faint, growing stronger with the years, like the stream as it races to the fall.

Wherefore, being more strong than Time, Love shall be more strong than Death.

The river of my life speeds yearly swifter, the years like months go by, the months like weeks, the weeks like days.

Even so fleet on, O Time, till I rest beside her feet! Nay, never, being young, did I more desire my love's presence when we were apart than to-day I desire it, the memory of her filling all my heart as fragrance of flowers fills a room, till it seems as if she were not far away, but near me, as I write of her.

And, foolish that I am! I look up as if I might see her by my side.